


Newt Scamander/Percival Graves Soulmate Drabbles Volume 2

by TheRogueHuntress



Series: Soulmate AUs [9]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, BAMF Newt Scamander, Cinnamon Roll Newt Scamander, First Meetings, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-06-21 11:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15556467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRogueHuntress/pseuds/TheRogueHuntress
Summary: A collection of Newt/Graves drabbles and one shots.





	1. Found

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Percival Graves/Newt Scamander Soulmate Drabbles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11708400) by [TheRogueHuntress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRogueHuntress/pseuds/TheRogueHuntress). 



> This time last year I'd just joined a forum on Fan Fiction and decided to take part in their Romance Awareness Month.
> 
> I had no idea the sweat, bloody sore fingers, and tears of frustration this would involve. Here is the start of a month of soulmate prompts, take two. Previously I had to pick 1 pairing and stick with it, but this time around they're more flexible, so there won't be 31 chapters to this collection.
> 
> Also, here's the link to the forum, if you're interested: https://www.fanfiction.net/forum/Hogwarts-School-of-Witchcraft-Wizardry-Challenges-Assignments/157448/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soulmate AU Prompt: Each day on your arm is a sentence that your soulmate's said that day.

The words that appeared on the pale skin of Newt's inner forearm tended to be scrawled in a midnight blue ink so dark that he'd mistaken it for black the first time he'd seen it. His seventeenth birthday had allowed him to gain both his magical maturity and the ability to view upon his skin a sentence his soulmate had spoken that day. It had been late at night, his bedroom lit by candlelight as he'd peered curiously at the words.

_Get your act together, Smithers!_

Newt had smiled and wondered who Smithers was - a friend, an employee, a family member?

Years later and his soulmate had hardly changed. Everyday he seemed to be scolding a new employee, nagging Auror Goldstein, or having furiously angry conversations with people he considered puffed-up purebloods. Of course, Newt was of the opinion that every pureblood was puffed-up, including his own family, so he could commiserate.

He wondered what writing appeared on his soulmate's wrist, what colour Newt's words would take. Something vibrant, he hoped, something that would bring a little bit of joy into his soulmate's strict and steady world.

The day his arm drew a blank Newt was on a steamship headed for The City That Never Sleeps; New York itself. He was curled into the bunk he'd built for himself in his suitcase, far more comfortable than the bed in the cabin above.

Using the light of his wand, Newt yawned as he watched yesterday's blue ink ' _take this to the President, Abernathy'_  fade away. Today's words would soon follow and every time it was a delight to see them form.

His arm remained pale and unadorned as the minutes ticked by. An hour passed, then another. With a frown on his face and his stomach churning, Newt drifted off to sleep.

When he woke, his arm was still blank: his soulmate had not said a single word the day before.

Newt absentmindedly stroked Dougal, who had curled into his side as Newt had awoken, and stared at the wooden floor of the hut. A blank arm could mean nothing good and he hated the thought that his soulmate might be in danger.

He opened his mouth to speak, to offer both himself and Dougal some meaningless reassurances, when he shut it again, struck by the thought that whatever he said might appear on his soulmate's arm.

"I'm coming to find you," Newt said after a long pause. As he went about his chores inside his case, he repeated the words; "I'm coming to find you."

Throughout the entire day he said nothing else. He would find his soulmate and determine why they'd been struck mute. He could only hope it was something as simple as a foolish prank or a bump to the head.

That evening Newt stripped off his shirt and stood before his mirror. He'd heard of soul marks moving, but had never believed the tales. Even so, he wanted to be certain he was not missing his soulmate's words. As the end of the day approached his heart began to race.

"I'm coming to find you," Newt promised.

He sagged with relief as words began to curl into shape upon his arm. As they took form, he stared at them in disbelief. After all this time, could it really be so easy?

_My name is Percival Graves._

He was the Head of MACUSA's DMLE and the Director of Magical Security. Anyone that even wished to step foot upon American soil had heard his name. He was strict, no nonsense, and inscruciably fair.

"Hello Percival," Newt murmured. "I really am coming to find you, I promise."

He was headed toward New York City, after all, and he'd be arriving there tomorrow.

* * *

After a chaotic day that only proceeded to go from bad to worse, Newt managed to find himself in MACUSA Headquarters, having almost been arrested, and having come face to face with a man that an Auror named Abernathy addressed as 'Graves'.

Newt stared at 'Graves'. The other man glanced at him and dismissed Newt in one disinterested frown.

In that instant, Newt knew that 'Graves' had to be an imposter. Newt's soulmate would be far more suspicious of someone like Newt just turning up in his city, especially considering the fact that Newt did not have the right paperwork for his wand, let alone his creatures. Newt's Graves loved paperwork, or at least he loved making other people complete it.

"Let's see the little guy," the imposter said, nodding at Newt's case after Goldstein had rushed through their story of the Niffler's escape.

Newt took a breath and released it in one panicked gasp when Goldstein then opened his case only to reveal that it was filled with pastries and not a single magical creature in sight.

"But sir," Goldstein said, staring at the case in dismay.

"Goldstein," 'Graves' said in a low voice and shook his head with disappointment. He strode away.

"Miss Goldstein," Newt hissed, as Auror Abernathy huffed in dismay and hurried after his superior. "That man is an imposter."

"Oh, I just can't believe this," Goldstein groaned to herself, then her head snapped up. "What?"

He drew close to her - too close, perhaps, from the way she narrowed her eyes.

"Percival Graves is my soulmate," Newt said. His voice shook. "And for the last week he's said nothing else all day other than 'My name is Percival Graves'." He ripped back the cuff of his sleeve to show her a curl of writing.

"Mary and Merlin," Goldstein said, jaw dropping. She reached for his arm and only barely managed to stop herself from touching his wrist. Newt awkwardly stepped back, glad that she was listening.

"That's Mr Graves' writing," Goldstein said, an incredulous note to her voice. Newt sagged with relief, grateful for some reassurance that he wasn't going mad.

They exchanged a long, worried look, then both peered in the direction that the false Graves had walked.

"If that's not Mr Graves," Goldstein began, horror darkening her gaze. "Then who in magic's name was it?"

President Picquery hadn't believed them until she'd found the document Graves had signed when accepting his position as the Director of Magical Security and then called in an expert to compare the writing on the document to the writing on the arm.

When Percival's handwriting was declared valid she swept a hand over her face.

"Shit!" she swore after a moment's silence. Both Goldstein and Newt jumped. The graphologist hovered in the corner, looking uncertain.

"Why's it always you, Goldstein?"

"Sorry, Madam President," Goldstein said. She didn't look particularly sorry.

The President began to pace her office, occasionally talking to the portraits and asking them to summon various members of her congress. Newt was ushered into a corner and he sat on a leather armchair with what could only be Mr Kowalski's suitcase on his knees. He watched as the crowd of wizards in the President's office grew and grew, listening to snippets of conversation.

"Could it be?"

"-the worst kind of deception!"

"-a dark wizard, very dangerous-"

"Perhaps, Dumbledore?"

"No," the President snapped at that suggestion. The room fell silent. "Let us not cast aspersions upon the origin of the wizard until we have captured him." She took a breath. "Are you ready? Goldstein, stay with Scamander and for Mercy's sake, stay out of trouble."

The President led the gathered witches and wizards from her office, wands at the ready.

"They're going to confront him," Goldstein said. She stared after them hungrily, obviously wishing that she could have joined the fight.

Newt tried not to squirm in his seat, instead looking at the various magical instruments in the President's office although they did not hold his interest. He wished that he had his true case with him. He wished that he was gifted in duelling, so that he might help. He wished, above all, that Percival Graves would be found safe and sound.

A loud explosion shook the entire building. They waited in silent anticipation as several smaller blasts echoed down the halls. Screams and curses overlapped with the sound of spellfire.

Then, amazingly, someone burst into the office.

It was a man that looked like Percival Graves, but dishevelled, with wild eyes and filthy clothing. He wore the tattered remains of a smart robe and he collapsed to the floor as the door shut behind him, bloodied and bruised.

"Who are you!" Goldstein snarled, wand raised.

Newt peered at him. The man gazed back, wary of them both.

"Put the wand down, Tina," he said, sounding tired. "I've had a hell of a week."

Shoving Kowalski's case off his lap, Newt stood and brushed past Goldstein.

"I don't suppose your name is Percival Graves," he said, folding back his cuff's. His heartbeat stuttered. The man's robes were so torn that he merely had to shift to reveal his own wrist and subsequent soul mark.

In the deep turquoise of Newt's coat were the words ' _I'm coming to find you'_  in a looping scrawl Newt recognised as his own. He fell to his knees beside Graves, clasping their shaking hands together. He squeezed his fingers, holding the other man tight.

"You kept me sane, you know," Graves said. His gaze was intense, his brown eyes searching. "What's your name?"

"Newt Scamander," Newt said, barely managing to get out the words. He smiled, blinking away tears of joy. "I guess I did find you, after all."


	2. Immortal 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Graves' perspective of Immortal, which is chapter 25 of my original soulmate collection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soulmate AU Prompt: You stop aging at a certain age until you meet your soulmate and grow old together.

Percival Graves had stopped aging on his fortieth birthday, or thereabouts. Five years later he could still count the wrinkles in the creases of his eyes, and he'd not gained a single line more. Percival was happy enough with that. Being forty for eternity, or at least until he met his soulmate, was an entirely acceptable age, and far better than being fifty, or even more mature.

Still, it was statistically likely that his soulmate would be younger, and as the years dragged on, Percival kept himself in good shape, feeling that it was important that he had something other than his youth to offer his soulmate.

It was a shame, really, when all his hard work went to waste and Grindelwald, the vile, cretinous piece of shite that he was, captured Percival in order to impersonate him.

Life, sometimes, just wasn't fair.

* * *

Grindelwald had been absent for a worryingly long amount of time. Percival wasn't one to complain, but being chained to a wall without food or water could really set a man on edge. He felt rather pathetic, wishing for Grindelwald to return, but Merlin be damned, he was thirsty. He released a dry, shallow breath and tilted his head back against the wall, closing his eyes against the room he'd was imprisoned in. His head hurt. His arms hurt. Even his tongue hurt.

Dehydration was a painful way in which to die.

When the discordant sound of someone blowing in the front door shook the building, Percival wondered if he'd started hallucinating. If not, Goldstein or whichever of his good for nothing deputies had found him, was displaying some rather shoddy spell work, as the roof was crumbling, plaster trickling onto his face.

"Up here," Percival called, or tried to. His words came out as a moan of pain, his voice hoarse and his throat dry.

The first face he saw was not Goldstein, nor any Auror he knew. The man was tall and slim, with fetching golden curls and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks. He was dressed in a peculiar petrol blue overcoat that flapped about his legs as he raced up the stairs.

It was his eyes, however, that drew Percival in. They looked weary. This was a man that had lived more years than his youthful appearance would ever suggest.

Percival had grown used to seeing that same expression in the mirror.

"Alohomora," the man hissed and promptly began digging through his pockets for various potions and vials. Percival bit back a moan of pain at regaining circulation in both his arms and shrugged his shoulders to release the tension in them. He grimaced and his eyelids drooped closed.

The man tutted and captured Percival's wrist in order to take his pulse. Percival's eyes snapped open at the extraordinary feeling of his touch.

Where their skin met, it began to glow golden. Percival couldn't tear his gaze away from the phenomenon happening before him.

They were soulmates.

"Huh," he said. Warmth began spreading through his body, his previous aches and pains forgotten. "I was beginning to think I'd be middle-aged forever."

"Shush," the other man said, and a smile grew upon his face. There was a lightness to him that had been absent before. Percival watched as the man gently brushed away the matted hair that was dangling into Percival's face, half obscuring his vision when he leaned his head forward.

"Save your voice. You're safe now, with me."

Percival narrowed his eyes, but he couldn't help leaning into the soft touch. "You're definitely older than I am," he said, almost surprised by the conclusion he'd come to. Percival wasn't young; he'd spent decades with the same face.

"Only a few years," the man said. Percival wanted to scoff. As if he'd know! Still, it didn't matter, at least not to Percival, not now that they were here, together.

The other man was murmuring something else, but tiredness was beginning to drag Percival's eyes closed once more. He blindly reached out and captured the other man's hand with his own, squeezing tight. As he drifted off to his first restful sleep in weeks, he smiled.


	3. Rather Special Indeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmate!AU - Soulmate marks that grow along with your relationship - e.g constellations that start with a single star, seeds that grow into flowers/trees/vines, eggs that hatch.

A moving image of a wampus kitten gamboled along Newt's skin, peeked out from beneath his sleeves and pounced upon his knuckle, only to disappear again up his arm.

"Ah, sorry about that," Newt said, blushing. Soul marks didn't usually make themselves visible in public, but there was nothing Newt could do to control the kitten.

Percival Graves - the real one, Newt reminded himself, not the impersonator - smiled kindly as he shook Newt's hand.

"Nothing to worry about. It's a pleasure, Mr Scamander."

Newt darted a glance around Graves' office. It was impressive, with trinkets on shelves that lined the walls from floor to ceiling and a varnished mahogany desk that was settled right in the middle of the room, visible upon first entry. To the side, however, there were two dark green velvet armchairs next to a fire and they leant a welcoming feel to an otherwise imposing room. Newt was invited to take a seat, which he did, hoping that his nerves were not visible.

A house elf served them tea and Newt tried to hide behind his teacup when Graves fixed him with a piercing gaze.

"Ms Goldstein tells me you've returned to New York to give her a book on magical creatures," Graves said after a moment's pause. "I was, admittedly, indisposed during the Grindelwald debacle, however I would like your reassurance that not a single creature will escape from what she loosely termed as a 'suitcase', however sounds to me far more like a form of wildlife safari that you've managed to charm portable."

Newt hid a wince. "That is… a fair description," he confessed. His case was at the Goldstein's house as they'd kindly offered to look after it while he faced down the Director of Magical Security. He missed it's presence at his side.

"Well?" Graves said, arching a brow.

"The creatures, they won't escape," Newt blurted out, realising he'd failed to promise that. "I've got much better security than before."

He thought about the twine holding the case closed and hoped Graves wasn't a Legilimens. He definitely needed to get that fixed. Somehow, he'd just not found the time.

"Excellent," Graves said. He clasped his hands together and smiled. It appeared that he considered the topic done with. "Very well, Mr Scamander. In that case, please allow me to thank you for the assistance you provided last November."

"You're, er, you're welcome," Newt said, not quite why he was being thanked, but glad to move the conversation away from his very illegal suitcase of creatures. "Tina was really the one responsible."

"She certainly helped, but Seraphina tells me, and I agree, that you did us a favour that day," Graves said.

"In fact," he began, then paused. A frown marred his brow. "I hope you do not find this to be too forward, Mr Scamander, but I do have another favour to ask of you. You may, of course, refuse."

Newt tilted his head to the side. "What is it?" he said, digging his fingers into his trousers and wondering if he truly was permitted to say 'no'.

Graves seemed a little flustered and he stared at the table between them for a long moment.

"My soulmark… it takes the form of an egg and I was hoping you might be able to identify it for me."

Newt beamed. It wasn't what he'd been expecting, but he was happy to help all the same.

"Certainly, if, uh, you'll have to show me it, of course."

Glancing up, Graves flashed him a quick smile. "Of course."

He rolled back his cuff and extended his forearm.

Leaning forward, Newt peered at what was a small, silver egg imprinted upon Graves' skin.

"Oh, that is rather special," he murmured. He extended a finger to trace the outline, only just managing to catch himself before he touched the other man.

"So, you know what it is?" Graves asked.

"Oh, of course!" Newt said. "It's an occamy; unmistakably so. How beautiful."

Then, as they both stared at Graves' forearm, the egg began to hatch.

Newt immediately jerked back as if he'd been the one to crack the egg. The wampus kitten on his skin settled on the back of his hand, and he wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but she'd grown a little larger than before.

He stared at Graves, who was gazing back, shock upon his face.

"Well," Graves said, then nothing further. They both looked down at the egg, the occamy's nose beginning to peek through.

"Indeed," Newt answered. Something like joy was beginning to bubble upon within him. There really was no other way around it; they were soulmates. They had to be.

"It certainly has been a pleasure to meet you, Mr Scamander," Graves said, voice low. His brown eyes gleamed with delight.

"Call me Newt, please," Newt said, offering him a grin. "All my friends do."


	4. Just Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmate!AU: Everyone wears a mask. You are unable to take off your mask until you meet the person who is wearing an identical mask to you - your soulmate.

Newt had been reluctant to attend the MACUSA annual summer ball. Queenie had twisted his arm until he'd agreed, telling him he'd stand out more not attending than if he did. Even a simple consultant magizoologist would be missed, or so she claimed.

He was dressed in a black tuxedo with an indigo bow tie he'd picked out to match the colour of the mask that curled around his eyes. Electric blue feathered along his cheekbones before darkening to a deep purple fur above his brow, a combination of occamy and some feline creature. Until he met his soulmate, Newt would be unable to remove his mask, but he loved it and was uncertain if he'd ever want it to be removed anyway.

"Come on!" Queenie insisted, tugging him into the Woolworth Building. He followed obediently.

The entrance chamber had been transformed, a spell similar to that on the Hogwarts Great Hall ceiling showing the stars above, lacking the usual light pollution of New York City. Vines crept up the marble columns, bursting with blossom and filling the chamber with a sweet scent. In the centre was a fountain that bubbled over with a sparkling liquid that shimmered like diamonds.

"Fantastic," Newt murmured. Familiar as he was with the transformation of indoor spaces, he knew that this must have taken an immense amount of magical effort.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Queenie cooed, drawing him further into the room. "Tina's already here, she's managed to sneak Jacob in the back."

The smile on her face was sweet as she considered the Muggle. They'd exchanged masks upon their first meeting and had been inseparable ever since.

"Ms Goldstein, please do not talk about my Aurors bending the rules of the law in the vicinity of my hearing," a low voice murmured.

They both jumped.

"Oh, Mr Graves!" Queenie exclaimed. That was Tina's infamously strict boss, the Director of Magical Security. Newt turned on one heel to face the other man, hoping that he'd not kick Jacob out.

His jaw dropped. The other man's mask was the mirror image of his own.

They were soulmates. There could be no other explanation.

"Mr Graves," Queenie said, sounding unusually nervous, gaze darting between them both. "This is Mr Scamander, the consultant on magical creatures that was requested from England."

Newt extended his hand to shake and Graves stepped forward to clasp it within both of his own. He bowed over it, brown eyes sincere.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr Scamander," he said.

Newt felt himself flush bright red. All he wanted to do was reach forward, trace the outline of Mr Graves' mask and see if it would slip from his face, revealing his true appearance beneath. It was indecent and outrageous to do such a thing at a public event, however.

"Mr Graves," he said. "I — uh, and you."

A smile curved across Graves' face. Newt answered with a tentative grin. After all, the evening was only just beginning.


	5. In Grave Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soulmate!AU in which being next to your soulmate accelerates healing.

“We’ll be back for you,” the guard on Newt’s right growled. The tip of his wand dug uncomfortably into Newt’s back as he guided him through a maze of corridors. Newt winced, dizzy from a mixture of Side-Along Apparition and a bump to the head. At least he’d managed to collect all of his creatures, even if his suitcase was now in MACUSA’s possession.

“Listen, if you just listen, I haven’t done anything wrong. Please will you tell Director Graves? If I could just speak with him, I’m sure we could get this sorted out.”

The guard chuckled.

“The Director is well aware of that.”

A barred door was slung open with a metallic clang. Newt was thrown into a cell. He collided face first with cool, stone walls.

“Ouch,” he muttered, touching his bound hands to the fresh graze on his cheek. “That wasn’t very pleasant,” he called after the retreating guards.

“Don’t bother with them,” a surly voice informed him.

Newt spun, scanning the cell for its other occupant. The room had no windows, just three walls and the barred door. He squinted, identifying a shape curled up in the corner.

“You must be something of a wildcard,” the voice continued. “He normally has a fresh cell set aside for the prisoners he intends to take.”

In a strange way, that was flattering. Newt licked a drop of blood from his lip and took a step forward.

“My name’s Newt Scamander,” he said in the voice he used to calm his most frightened of creatures. “Who are you?”

The man in the corner chuckled, dark and bitter.

“I’m Percival Graves,” he said.

Newt tilted his head to one side and stepped closer again. Percival Graves was who the man who’d arrested him had professed to be—but Theseus had never said a bad word against Graves, despite them working together often. The Percival Graves outside those bars was cruel and vindictive, nothing like what he was supposed to be at all.

“Polyjuice?” Newt asked, putting the pieces together. But if this was the real Percival Graves, then who was pretending to be him?

“You’re a clever one, aren’t you?”

Newt stepped closer, still. The man looked like Percival Graves, but beaten and thin with hunger, his gaze desperate, his hands clutched close against his chest. Newt knelt and settled beside him, giving him the reassurance of warmth and another living being’s touch.

“Too clever for my own good, an old professor of mine used to say,” Newt joked, even as his heart ached. He hated seeing beings in pain, whether they be people or creature.

Graves snorted. Almost on instinct, he seemed to lean closer.

“How long have you been here?” Newt asked, keeping his voice quiet.

“Few months,” Graves grunted. “As far as I can tell. Grindelwald caught me with my guard down.

Newt swallowed. Even he knew who Grindelwald was, and he’d barely been in Europe these last few years. A few months was a long time to be kept imprisoned, let alone by a man like Grindelwald.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “I just arrived in New York today, actually.”

Newt stretched out his legs and wriggled his wrists, trying to loosen the binds, but they wouldn’t give. At least his cheek wasn’t hurting as much as it had been, and the black eye the guards had given him had seemed to have stopped aching.

“Only today.” Graves huffed. “You must have really pissed him off.”

“I like to think so,” Newt said, biting back a smile. “Do you think you can help me get these ropes off?”

Graves sighed and extended his hands. Now removed from where they’d been curled against Graves’s chest, Newt could see the extent of the damage. Grindelwald had broken every single one of the man’s fingers.

“I’m so sorry,” Newt whispered.

“It’s fine,” Graves said. “They’re not hurting as much as they normally do. He rebreaks them every few days.”

Newt winced.

“Why?”

Graves grunted and cushioned his hands back against his chest.

“I caused him all sorts of trouble with the small amount of wandless magic I can perform. Eventually, he got bored with my mischief and found a permanent solution. Can’t cast wandless magic if I can’t move my fingers.”

“Damn,” Newt said. He twisted his wrists, trying to free himself, but he only served to rub his wrists raw. “Wandless magic is beyond me, for the most part, I’m afraid.”

He leaned closer to Graves, glad he wasn’t alone and imprisoned, with no idea what was going on.

“We have to get out of here,” Newt said, then yawned. 

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do?” Graves retorted, but he sounded strangely tired too.

“If I could just get this rope off,” Newt murmured. He yawned again, tilting his head to one side to rest against Graves. He had had a long day. Perhaps a short rest and he’d focus on the task at hand. Just a little nap…

Newt snapped awake with a groan, heart beating wildly. It took a moment for him to come to his senses and he scrambled away from Graves, who seemed to be in the throes of a nightmare.

“Wake up,” Newt said. “Graves. Wake up.”

Graves froze, then slowly his eyes crept open. In the dim light of the cell, Newt could barely see the shine of them.

“Newt?” Graves rasped, after a moment of silence. “That was your name, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Newt crept closer. “Are you okay?”

Graves stared at him without blinking, then uncurled, stretching his arms and legs. He still looked gaunt, but there was a rosiness that had been missing from his pallor before they’d both fallen asleep.

“My hands. They’ve healed,” Graves whispered. 

Newt touched his fingers to his cheek. His black eye was no longer swollen and the graze on his cheek was gone.

“I- I don’t know what happened,” Newt said.

A smile was beginning to spread across Graves’s face

“Don’t you?” He wiggled his fingers, staring at them in awe. “Newt—this is amazing. You’re amazing.”

“Me?” Newt said. He held up his bound hands between them. “I haven’t done anything!” His breath was coming in short, sharp pants.

“Come here,” Graves said, stepping closer. Newt backed away, into the wall. 

“No, I—what’s happening?”

Graves paused and Newt sucked in a lungful of air, mind dizzy.

“Surely you’ve heard of the soulmate phenomenon? When two wixen come together and are able to heal each other’s wounds just by being in close proximity to each other?”

Newt glanced Graves’s hands and traced where the scrape on his face ought to be.

“Right. Okay. Uh, okay…” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes. Yes, of course I have. I just… hadn’t, um, expected, um, anything.”

“I’m going to come closer again, Newt,” Graves warned him. “I’m going to remove those ropes from around your wrists. Is that okay?”

Newt’s eyes snapped open and he watched Graves warily. Graves looked back, solemn. Trustworthy, if Theseus was to be believed. Newt nodded, stretching out his arms.

“Yeah.”

Despite the rags hanging off Graves’s frame and the dirt from spending three months imprisoned, Newt could see that Graves was handsome. When Hogwarts had given them a cursory class on the soulmate phenomenon, Newt had hardly paid attention. He’d never thought that magic might pick someone out for him, match him with another person like this.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “It’s a bit much.” He resolved not to screw this up, the way he’d screwed up Leta and Hogwarts.

Graves’s eyes were narrowed, focused on the rope as he wrapped his hands around Newt’s wrists. He squeezed, and suddenly the rope uncoiled like a snake, falling to the floor.

“There,” he said, sounding triumphant. “Enchanted rope—Grindelwald really didn’t trust you not to cause trouble.”

At that, Newt couldn’t help but grin. He rotated his wrists, enjoying the feeling of freedom.

“He hasn’t seen anything yet,” Newt proclaimed. He’d been through worse than having to face his own fears. He took a breath and looked Graves directly in the eye. “Soulmates, then?”

Graves raised his eyebrows. “So it appears.”

“Okay,” Newt said. He smiled. “We’re going to escape, you and I.”

Newt dipped his hand into his breast pocket. Sure enough, there was Pickett, curled into a shaking ball of leaves. 

“Let’s get out of here. Extra woodlice for you if you can help us out, buddy.”

The gobsmacked look on Graves’s face would be one he’d save to conjure a Patronus with. Newt walked over to the barred door, placing Pickett on the lock.

“It’s been magically locked,” Graves said. He sounded cautiously optimistic.

“There’s a reason bowtruckles are coveted so much.”

Seconds later, the locked clicked open, Pickett chirping cheerfully. Newt scooped him up and tucked him away. 

“Good boy,” he murmured.

Graves spun Newt around, gripping his shoulders. Newt looked down at him, grinning. It was amusing to discover that he was taller than the Director Graves Theseus always spoke of with such respect. Perhaps this soulmate thing wasn’t anything to be afraid of.

“I could kiss you,” Graves said, his eyes twinkling.

“Let’s save it for later,” Newt said, feeling brave. He stroke the back of one of Graves’s hands. “Come on. Let’s break out of here.”

“No one has ever broken out of Nurmengard before,” Graves warned.

Newt strode forward, pushing open the cell door and striding down the corridor.

“Perhaps. But they haven’t tried imprisoning me before, either.”

Graves followed, hot on his heels. As he walked, Newt could smell ozone and the crackle of something like lightning. When he turned, Graves was forming a silver ball of energy that flickered between his hands. He was grinning madly. The sound of footsteps echoed on stone—perhaps they’d been a little loud opening the door. 

“Let’s get these bastards,” Graves said. Newt grinned back and nodded.

As the first guard rounded the corner, Newt ducked beneath his spell and tackled him, stealing the wand from his hands. It looked like oak—not ideal, but close enough to his own to cast magic. 

“ _ Stupefy,” _ he said and smiled at the wash of red spellfire. The core was likely unicorn hair, as it worked nicely for him.

Meanwhile, Graves was brawling with two other guards, a third collapsed against the wall, bolts of lightning forcing the guards on the defensive. When Newt joined the fight, all four were unconscious and bound together in no time at all.

This time, Graves stepped forward, grabbing the back of Newt’s neck, and drew him into a kiss. Newt sighed, stroked Graves’s cheek, and stepped back with a smile.

“Let’s get out of here, save my friends, find my suitcase, and catch Grindelwald.”

“A not inconsiderable list,” Graves said, smirking. There was blood on his lips that he licked clean. “Let’s do it.”


End file.
